Four months. Has it really been that long?

Four months have passed since my sister died.  Four.  Damn.

Has it really been that long since my boyfriend and I jumped in a car and drove 2 hours to get to the hospital she was being flown to?

Has it really been that long since I talked to her last?  Since I held her hand as she lay sedated in a hospital bed…connected to more machines than I could even begin to count?

Has it been that long since I talked to her normally…like nothing was wrong?  Talked to everyone that way, made everyone talk that way, so if she could hear us even slightly…all she would hear was love and comfort (and, of course, the usual family banter/bickering)…

Has it been that long since she woke up – just for a couple of days?  Since I asked her if she was in pain and she mouthed: “What do you think?” ?  Tube down her throat, could barely move her lips…and I still knew that was exactly what she said.  Because, she was my brat after all.  Wouldn’t expect less.

Has it been that long since we believed she was getting better?  That she was going to make it through this?  That long since we started planning for her recovery and rehabilitation and figuring out who would come to stay with her when?  That long since I left, because I thought she was getting better…that I would see her again in a couple of days…

Has it really been that long since I got the phone call?  From my mom telling me I needed to come back…that she had a rough night…that my brother and father were already on their way.  That I needed to come back.  Now.

Has it been that long…since I walked back into Room 257 for the final time?  Everyone was quiet.  So quiet.  The machines were gone.  The curtain was drawn.  I asked them all to leave.  Has it been that long, Brat?  Since I held your hand and ran my fingers through your hair?  Since I told you that it was okay?  That I wasn’t mad at you and in a way that maybe I was even happy…because you weren’t in pain anymore, weren’t stuck in a body that only fought against you.  That I told you how much I loved you and how much I would miss you?  Has it been that long since I watched our whole family fall apart around us, as I continued to hold your hand and run my fingers through your hair?  That long since I had to be told when to leave your side, because I couldn’t do it on my own?  Has it been that long since I had to say goodbye to you?

Yes.  I guess it has.

I miss you.  I love you.

Your sistah.

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